She awoke from dreams of darkness and stone, blood and shadow, feeling rested, the bedroll far softer than expected, almost like a real bed. It was a shame to have to get up! She looked around – the tower still loomed over them, red and huge. She looked around, looking for the spectre. It hadn’t killed Cullis, from how he grumbled and snored. Had it vanished?

‘Are you there?’

There was no response. Maybe the thing could only persist for a certain amount of time? Could it be summoned again? She tried speaking again, but it didn’t reappear.

Cullis eventually awoke, helping himself to some of the rations, tossing some to her. ‘Good pickings in that pack! Another few days and we should make Redcastle. That scroll says there should be another cache out in the woods, hidden in a cliff. Seemed to have a lot of warnings, you feeling OK? This is enough gold to settle down, get a nice little place!’ He jangled the pouch. ‘We best be careful though, going to be a lot of refugees on the road. Best we keep quiet, look normal. Got any way to hide that thing? I ain’t getting anywhere near it.’

He gestured at the sword, currently tucked through her belt. It was still strangely warm, feeling more comfortable in her hand now, although there was still the slight tinge of bloodlust, the urge to kill, but it seemed controllable. She cut a long strip of cloth from a cloak from the pack and wound it about the blade, trying to settle it so that it didn’t settle along the blade where it would get cut. It looked awkward, but it hid the jet-black blade from sight, at least if she rested her hand on the hilt as well.

They set off down the road, Cullis keeping an awkward distance, not wanting to get close to her, but wanting to lose her either, clearly finding her more valuable alive than lost or dead. When they were away from the tower, the road got busier, with small and random groups of stragglers, all keeping distant from each other. Some were soldiers, still with gear, but others were refugees and non-combatants, although most had managed to acquire weapons themselves, looted off the battlefield. They didn’t mingle, everyone suspicious and wary.

As they moved through the groups, the pair of them able to make faster time than the larger groups, especially those carrying wounded, the sword twitched in her hand, wanting to taste blood. She found herself drooling, strange desires welling up inside her – she could almost smell them, odd senses making her want to cut and stab. It seemed to be strongest around groups, wanting to revel in the blood of as many people as possible, rather than being drawn to anyone in particular.

It was easier to not think too much, and just concentrate on walking. She kept her hand on the sword-hilt, just in case, even though that meant she could feel the bloodlust still, but it was better than being unarmed. They passed by a brawl, several warriors swinging for each other, everyone else keeping a wide distance, the speed slowly to a crawl as everyone else inched past on the far side of the road.

As the sun reached its height, the travellers slowed even more, the heat draining everyone’s energy. There was little to offer shade – the road cut through an empty and rocky plain, without any trees or other cover. Even the other soldiers weren’t bothering to squabble, their armour now heavy and hot.

Up ahead was a bridge over a deep red canyon, a sparkling river far below and red-stone cliffs above. It must have been ancient, with most of the guardrails worn and broken away. There were statues at each end, eroded and worn away into vague lumps, only broadly human-shaped. The movement of the groups slowed again, no-one wanting to get too close to the edge and risk toppling over.

Ruesin had to take a deep breath, the dull annoyance at the heat and travel starting to translate to a desire to kill. She could feel her grip tightening on the hilt, enough that it hurt her knuckles. Someone pushed against her, and she shoved back, sliding the sword an inch out from her hip, just barely controlling herself from sliding it out and slicing into them. She could imagine their body, staggering backwards, with blood splashing out, thick, red and delicious, soaking into her flesh, the taste thick on her tongue. She shook the thoughts away, trying to ignore the throbbing warmth from the blade.

Up ahead, there was a disruption of some kind – two refugees were starting to fight, swinging with heavy swords, wide blows that forced everyone else to keep a safe distance away. Between them was the cause of their disagreement, a knapsack full of looted gold and gems, glinting in the sunlight.

Ruesin growled in annoyance then made an impulsive and reflexive gesture with her hand, feeling her fingers twist into strange shapes. The blade murmured in approval and an energy shimmered into being front of her, barely visible except as the vaguest impression of a force that mercifully no-one else seemed to have noticed. The sword throbbed, somehow conveying a feeling of… satisfaction? She whispered at the thing she had just called up, her voice lost amongst the commotion of the crowd. ‘Go shove that bag off the edge.’

She couldn’t actually see the thing as soon as it moved away, but a few seconds later the bag suddenly lurched forward, scattering coins as it moved. Neither of the fighters noticed, yelling curses at each other as they fought. Then it jumped forward again, before sailing over the edge, trailing gleaming wealth behind it as it dropped.

One of them noticed and half-turned, the other taking advantage of this and giving them a shove, sending them sailing over the drop, plummeting down towards the river with a desperate scream. As soon as the winner turned around to see that the bag was gone, he shouted another curse, looking around to see where it had gone. When he tried to swing at another random straggler, accusing them of stealing it, another brawl threatened to develop. It was cut short by a sudden shove, sending the soldier falling to his own death.

Like a blockage in a drain being cleared, everyone suddenly moved faster, trying to get over the bridge, scurrying over the chokepoint. Ruesin made sure to keep a hand on her own pouches, wanting to avoid getting pickpocketed herself, now that she had, for the first time ever, enough to be worth stealing.

When she was about halfway across the bridge, there was another commotion. On the high cliffs above them, now stood a small group of figures, their cloaks dust-covered, cloth masks over their faces. One raised a sword, the blade a blinding bar of metal, making Ruesin’s eyes sting as she hurriedly shaded them.

‘The blade of darkness was not with the conqueror of darkness!’ His voice was amplified somehow, booming off the canyon walls in a deafening echo. ‘The light reveals the shadow, and the shadow shall be purged.’ Four of the others jumped, their cloaks flapping open to reveal bare chests, golden lines bright against their chests. One of the refugees swung at them, a slow and poorly-aimed blow which was easily sidestepped.

In retaliation, their hand flashed downwards to their waist and grasped a sword hilt. There was a steely scraping sound and a blade lashed out, slicing through a hand. Blood splashed out, bright against the stone, making Ruesin twitch nervously, the blade shaking against her own hip.

There was another flash of metal, the shining sword cutting through a throat and then a body sank to the floor. Dark and piercing eyes were above the cloth, scanning over the crowd. ‘Who amongst you possesses the attainted thing? Who amongst you has sworn themselves to the great enemy, to the darkness beyond all things? Step forth and you shall be destroyed as the sinner you are.’

There was a moment of calm before panic set in, the crowd setting to run away. More of the figures jumped over them, blocking off the far end of the bridge, penning Ruesin and a group of other refugees into the centre of the bridge. She moved towards a group, hoping to hide herself amongst their numbers.

‘One amongst you wields the blade of darkness. Stand forth, and you shall be executed! Else we shall have to seek amongst you, and our questioning shall not be kind.’

Ruesin tried to hide the blade, angling it so that was in line with her leg. She heard a quiet slither as the angle of the blade aligned with the material, the weight of the fabric enough to cause it to be sliced apart.

One of the other stragglers noticed this, immediately pointing at her and screaming. ‘Her! She’s the one! Devil-sword! Kill her and let us go!’

Ruesin drew her sword before she had even thought about it, the edge whistling through the air and cutting into the screamer. They gurgled and sank to the ground, their face ashen as they died. Energy poured into her, making her feel more active and aware.

One of the attackers noticed this and immediately charged, leading with their blade. Ruesin blocked, black metal clanging against bright steel. His eyes had the bright glare of a fanatic, or someone that had taken a lot of drugs. Their blades locked together, metal scraping against metal, Ruesin trying to hold off his greater strength.

‘Dark-sworn wretch! Your master was slain, but no doubt the blade shall be passed to his heir, for use in some other wickedness.’

He flexed, shoving Ruesin backwards before swinging the blade at her again. Although she tried to protect herself, she was too slow to fully deflect the attack, a sudden flare of pain along her shoulder. She heard a battlecry from behind herself and managed to spin around just in time to see another one attacking her and tried to dodge, too slow. The attack run along her hip, another flare of pain. A word forced itself from her throat, something painful and tortuous, scalding her lips.

The attacker screamed as he burst into flames, pitch-black fire suddenly surrounding his body. His cloak burned to ash, revealing his torso, stitched through with golden wire. It flared for a moment before fading, the wires suddenly crumbling into ash as he stopped, then collapsed, body burnt and singed.

‘Creature of darkness! You shall pay with your life for your wickedness.’

Her blade twisted of its own volition, managing to block another strike from her first attacker. It was moving with more force now, a loud “clang” sounding out as their blades knocked together. This time, her movement was with enough force to knock the attacker’s blade back. She stepped forward before he could control it again and attacked with a thrust of her own, straight into his shoulder. As soon as the blade penetrated his skin, he gave a guttural cry of pain, his face growing pale and ashen. Red energy poured down the blade along with the man’s blood.

She pushed forward again, putting her strength behind it to try and push him away. His body was visibly withering, skin drawing tight over bones, the golden wire bound through them guttering out and turning to black dust. As his body sank down, a ghostly form emerged, appearing similar to the man she had just killed, save for being see-through and fading away to shadowy mist beneath the waist.

‘Help me!’ She yelled at it, the red eyes dipping as it nodded its head. Another of the attackers was looking at the thing in clear terror, giving Ruesin the chance to stab them. Energy poured through the blade and into her, and she felt her wound closing up. The rest of the stragglers were backing away from her now, preparing to defend against her as she readied herself for combat.

In desperation, she charged forward, wanting to get off the bridge, to at least be somewhere that wasn’t a misstep away from death. The sword shifted in her hand, the metal blade changing shape into a whip. It had longer reach and range, so when she flicked her wrist it sliced the air before wrapping around the wrist of an attacker. They shrieked in pain, and then she pulled her wrist back. The whip tightened, before slicing through their wrist, cutting their hand off. Where their blood dropped onto the whip, it vanished, soaking into the whip.

She flicked her empty hand, and a bolt of darkness appeared, flashing towards him. It impacted, and he went hurtling backwards, smashing into a remnant of the stone guardrail, stumbling and falling to his death. She tried to count how many attackers there were, but everyone was moving so fast, those burning with light and the refugees all running about in chaotic fights and brawls.

Ruesin flicked the whip again, forcing one of the attackers back. He flourished his own sword, some of the light flowing from their chest-mark onto their blade. ‘We slay those that walk in the darkness! When the child of light walks this world, we shall protect them, that the darkness may be destroyed forevermore!’

She had no idea what he was talking about, but twisted her hand again, producing another of the bolts. It hit his shoulder and send him stumbling back, but he managed to recover his balance before falling off the side. He held his sword up for a moment and it blazed with light, so bright that Ruesin couldn’t bear to look at it, the image searing itself into her eyes. Pain, fierce and agonising, lanced into her shoulder. It burnt, even more than the other stabs, and she staggered backwards, swinging her weapon to try and keep him away. The weight of the thing in her hand shifted, turning back into a sword. It moved by itself, several metallic “clangs” sounding as she felt the shocks from impacts, managing to keep herself alive as her vision cleared.

She felt the shock of impact, sword into flesh, and a gasp of pain, followed by warmth flowing into her again. As her vision returned, she saw him dropping backwards, clutching at a wound in his shoulder, the golden light flashing to his shoulder, knitting the wound back together. He hissed in pain, dancing backwards to keep a safe gap between them.

‘Wicked, accursed wretch!’

The spectre fell on him, lunging with shadowy hands and reaching through his chest. The light guttered and flickered, getting drained by the dark claws. It pulled the claws out and then attacked again, twisting them around the man’s neck. He tried to fight back but was losing strength too fast. He sank down, his body now wasted and weak, gasping and trying to stand.

Ruesin charged forward and stabbed the body as she passed it, making sure he was dead. More of them were gathering ahead of her on the bridge, ready to block her, swords shining bright.

‘Let me through!’ She slashed at the air with the blade, a cut of black appearing in mid-air that show forward and then expanded. The line of swordsman suddenly vanished, darkness blocking them from view, a dome of nothingness. She ran towards it, cutting at one of them as they emerged, somehow covered with ice.

She plunged into the darkness, the air around her suddenly frozen and chill. Something brushed against her, rough and harsh, her skin burning from the touch. As she ran, she flicked the sword from side to side, feeling it impact against flesh, more energy flowing into her, doing something to counteract the cold and the acid.

It was a relief to emerge out the other side, back into the sunlight. She looked behind herself to see the darkness still there, hearing the screams from inside of it as she continued to run. Ahead of her, managing a surprising turn of speed, was Cullis. She ran past him. ‘Come on! Where the hell do we need to go?’ The sword suddenly served, and she just barely managed to pull it back from stabbing him.